


And so it is

by Hyoushin



Series: blue winter roses [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cousin Incest, F/M, Friendship/Love, Half-Sibling Incest, I Will Go Down With This Ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7973575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyoushin/pseuds/Hyoushin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I like how you fight,” Jon heard her whisper. The words, spoken in a low voice, reached him in a tender breeze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And so it is

**I.**

Arya was sprawled on a bed of red leaves, cool air drying the perspiration upon her brow. She looked content, almost peaceful. Jon watched her while she had her eyes closed. He sat cross-legged beside her, letting his back be supported by the pale trunk of the weirwood. This rare quiescence coming from her was something to be stared at in wonder. For his little sister was a whirlwind; a force always pulsating with vim and zest for things at odds with what was expected of her age and gender.

On a good day, their Lord Father would cut the reigns and allow her to be herself. On a bad day, Lady Catelyn’s disapproval would be a weight much too heavy for her, and she would cave in—though never without snarling and pulling out her claws first. Then, she would adopt a most sullen demeanor that was hard to soothe. _Why can’t everyone see,_ Jon sometimes would think, _that Arya could be a fine lady just the way she is._ He glanced at the wooden sticks abandoned on the ground, at the bow and the arrows and the dummy made of straw. A wave of fondness stirred his lips. Indeed, there was no need to change her.

“I like how you fight,” Jon heard her whisper. The words, spoken in a low voice, reached him in a tender breeze. His dark gaze darted back to her. She was looking at the sky, her young countenance betrayed nothing. It seemed she had absorbed some of the ancient serenity pervading the godswood. “Not one blow’s wasted. Your head’s sharp. Your feet are quick—” Arya paused, she turned her head to consider him, and Jon felt pinned down by her eyes; eyes which in that moment glinted like polished silver. “You look unstoppable.”

With her appearance in hopeless disarray, Arya crawled towards him, stopping midway to pat the nearest calf. Jon complied. She had a mystifying hold over him, he was sure. He straightened his legs and parted them so she could set herself in the space left in between. She burrowed her upper body into his chest, while his arms, following a primal instinct, enclosed her. “Jon.” Arya smiled at him, lifting a hand to gently pull at a curl which had tumbled onto his forehead. “I want to fight like you. _Bravely_.” Her expression showed genuine amazement.

An eloquent answer to that eluded him. Because, at the same time, he became awash with something warm and good and indescribable that nearly overwhelmed him. He was not used to receiving words of that sort. Right now, he just wanted to keep this, her, what they had, as long as he could.

“Thank you,” Jon muttered, after a while. He placed a kiss upon her crown. Was there a limit to how much you could cherish a person?

Arya sighed, her messy hair tickled his chin. She relaxed against his body, and Jon saw when drowsiness took over her. He inhaled her scent and closed his eyes too.

If there was, then, perhaps, he was afraid of not caring how deep _it_ could go.

**II.**

Jon had found her in the courtyard at the crack of dawn, practicing fighting stances with a wooden staff instead of her _Needle_. He had made it a habit to be awake half an hour earlier to observe, from start to finish, her routines. Arya was silent, barefooted, and blindfolded. He was entranced by the elegance of her form. With her mind and body working in harmony, he noted the lethal shapes she drew; every movement precise and purposeful as long dark hair flowed in the wind behind her.

Arya threw the staff at a great height above her, and while it was in the air, she spun around to hit and kick the vital points of an invisible opponent. Soon after, she backed off to perform a graceful somersault. Upon landing on the snow-covered ground, she spun again, a trail of snow rose like dust, and the staff fell into her awaiting grasp. Arya whirled the weapon with both hands. And then thrust its sharp end into the throat of her imagined enemy. Arya righted her bent spine with the smoothness of a feline as she planted the staff in the snow. She tossed her head back, breathing in deeply. The fight was over, but she spent one more moment as one with the environment. _I am alive,_ she mouthed. She was enacting a bygone victory, Jon realized.

A pull he was unable to resist led him towards her. It was a mistake to not reveal his presence to her, however, for the blunt end of the staff met his gut in an instant. “Arya! Wait, it’s me.” He grunted, slightly doubling over. If he were made of something less resilient, he would be twisting in pain.

Arya stilled. “Jon?” She sounded a bit bewildered. “Were you watching? You were, weren’t you?” She untied the piece of fabric serving as a blindfold and blinked at him. “If you were nearby all this time then you should know better than to interrupt me while I’m…like this. What If I had lowered my aim? Imagine _that_ happening. ”

“ _Ah_ , I’d rather not—lesson learned, I assure you.” Jon let out a pained chuckle. “But…doing reckless things, aye, that’s me. I can’t say I’m the only one here, though.”

Arya grinned. “It’s in our blood, I suppose.”

Jon took in her wild hair, the male apparel she wore, the faint scars on display, the mix of summer and winter on her complexion, the sinewy physique forged by hardship—she had become into a female warrior who had attained an endless source of vigor and valor through tribulations. So far, she had only shared fragments of her story. He wondered for how long what she had been giving him would sustain him. He also knew greed was a monster ugly and dangerous.

“I like the way you fight,” Jon blurted. “You fight bravely.”

Her eyes widened at the familiar phrase. Sudden remembrance uncorked her bottled mirth, and her face began to glow with affection. She flung the staff and the blindfold away, stepping forward to shorten the distance between them. Jon felt her strong arms snaking around his torso; her hair tickling one side of his neck. He draped an arm around her shoulders to have her much closer to him.

“Thank you.” She stood on her toes to leave a kiss on a corner of his mouth. The touch aroused a sensation resembling hunger within him.

He kissed her cheek. “You’re welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi *waves hand* My first fic in this fandom.  
> I ship Jon/Arya so hard it hurts and it all began when reading the books. Why? Why do I always pick the unpopular ships? Jon/Sansa has more shippers I think. SO unfair. Now here I am writing again cause I despair at the lack of JonArya fics. :'C


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